


Personal Jesus

by theescapist99



Series: The Second Salem [3]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, a lot of blasphemy, bottom credence, post movies, this is a sequel to malleus, this one is going to be dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theescapist99/pseuds/theescapist99
Summary: After burning down New York, Grindlewald makes his comeback literally dressed as Jesus.Credence, blinded by the desire for vengeance, sneaks away to confront him -- leaving poor Percival a frantic mess.





	1. Peter 4:13

**Author's Note:**

> So I normally only do notes at the end of chapters, but as this is a sequel I'm making an exception. 
> 
> I did my best to try and kind of summarize what happened in the previous part of this series, Malleus. But honestly its probably best if you at least skim through the last story to get a good idea. I don't really think you would need to in order to make sense of this story. But for the sake of continuity, I likely will be sprinkling in at least some mention of the events of Malleus. I mean after all, none of this wouldn't be happening if all that didn't happen.
> 
> I did want a story where Credence and Graves reversed roles a bit, but you'll get what I mean by that when the story is over.
> 
> I guess that's it. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Jesus begins.

Headlines had begun popping up, all about the same subject. There was a miracle worker in California.

A priest with seemingly _magical_ healing abilities.

It was rumored by some to be the second coming of Christ himself.

Although to anyone who had actually _read_ the bible, they could see that the scenario was actually much more similar to what the good book foretells of the rise of the antichrist. People like Credence, who knew the bible well, knew that the antichrist was predicted to come as a beloved saint -- a man so revered that people would turn to worship him, rather than the one true God.

And Grindlewald did little to shield himself from the public eye -- although he again donned a new face. It was a handsomely sculpted one, with vivid blue eyes, and a long mane of auburn hair that fell down to his shoulders. Matching stubble lined his face to form a faint layer of facial hair that still appeared well maintained.

_He even looked like Jesus._

Credence wondered bitterly why magic done with a bible in hand was so eagerly declared God’s work, while magic done with only a wand should be punishable by exile. It was a double standard he was beginning to loathe more and more by the day.

He and Percival had relocated to a small home in Croatia, with the assistance of Newt and his former professor, Albus Dumbledore.

But neither Newt nor Dumbledore did much to visit them afterwards. It had already been six months, but Newt insisted they were all still busy cleaning up the mess in New York.

The mess that Credence had caused.

_Again._

Percival insisted over and over that it wasn’t his fault.

“Grindlewald must have been controlling you from a distance,” he had explained, “Theres a spell that can do that. Its called the imperius curse, and I’ve seen some of the _best_ Aurors fall prey to it, some for very long periods of time. It’s very powerful. You couldn’t have done anything, really Credence. I wish you’d stop blaming yourself so much.”

And although Credence _did_ still blame himself – what Percival did not seem to understand was that didn’t mean he didn’t _also_ blame Grindlewald.

It’s not that he didn’t believe Percival…but the truth as it was just did not make him feel any better.

How much had Grindlewald taken away from them both, at this point?

It was almost too much to count, but sometimes Credence liked to go down the list, just to remind himself that his deep seeded loathing of the man wasn’t misplaced:

He stole Percival’s identity. Percival never went into the details of how that had happened, but Credence could imagine that it was no gentle process.

He had raped Credence using Percival’s body.

In a sense, he pretty much raped them both.

He used Credence ( _again_ , using Percival’s body) to essentially self destruct in the middle of New York, killing hundreds.

Then the bastard breaks out of jail, hurts Percival _again_ , and forces Credence to practically burn the whole city to the ground, killing probably thousands.

Percival never seemed to like talking about the details of that aftermath, either. But that just annoyed Credence even more.

Of course, he knew it hadn’t been the _whole_ city as he kept having nightmares about, time and time again. Newt had insisted Tina and Queenie were fine, and thank god he had been in town when he did.

But it _felt_ like the whole city.

In a sense, he had also managed to burn down Percival’s entire life in the process.

Their home, the only home Credence had ever come to love -- _gone_. Percival’s career, the career he had worked so hard to build -- _ruined_.

Why Percival didn’t step aside when he had the chance, Credence would never understand.

Honestly, a quick death then and there _might_ have been better than the endless guilt he seemed to be living with now. 

And Percival, bless his heart, still did his best to try to get Credence’s mind off it.

He did his best to act like everything was fine.

He insisted that they were going to be all right.

But Credence didn’t have to be a Legilimens to know that even _he_ didn’t believe the words he was saying.

The man had lost his air of confidence. And it was surprising just how much that air of confidence seemed to make the Percival Graves that he had come to know. Without it, he seemed to Credence only a shell of his former self -- a shell that spent his days reading the paper, securing their small home with as much defense magic as he could think of, and drinking alcohol.

Dumbledore had allowed them a small sum of money to help them out, but Credence wasn’t sure how much longer it would last for. Percival kept saying he might find some work soon, probably under some kind of transfigured disguise, but they both knew without either having to point out just how unrealistic the idea was.

And still, Percival would always remind Credence:

“It’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong, my boy.”

_Right._

_It’s Grindlewald’s fault._

With all this time to themselves, Credence honestly had not much else to do _other_ than brood and contemplate about all the many ways Gellert Grindlewald has managed to fuck them (Yes, in those words, profanity and all).

_Fuck Gellert Grindlewald._

Percival never even touches him anymore.

Not like he used to.

A comforting hug, an affectionate caress? Sure. A reassuring embrace when the anxiety and grief of it all was too much, when Credence’s knees would buckle from the emotional agony? All the time.

…but he wouldn’t touch him like he used to. Percival had long ceased to touch him in the special way he did, that made his sins feel cleansed through sexual euphoria alone.

Credence even tried praying in front of him again, but to no avail. Percival had just paused to look at him --- to give him those same worried and sad eyes he always seemed to wear ever since New York, and walked past without a word.

Credence missed him -- but not only sexually, of course.

He missed _his_ Percival Graves.

He missed the Percival Graves who he held onto when he first rode a broomstick.

He missed the Percival Graves who would lick a bit of cum off his thumb when he’d finished Credence off.

He missed the Percival Graves who sometimes made him warm soups when it was particularly cold, even though he _hated_ cooking.

But as far as it seemed -- as much as Percival tried to insist it wasn’t so -- _that_ Percival Graves had perished back in that lake of fire and brimstone.

And if Percival was to be listened to, it was _entirely_ Gellert Grindlewald’s fault.

He has made that _abundantly_ clear.

And now, from what he’s read of the newspapers that Percival _tried_ to hide from him, the man is walking around not only free -- but _literally_ pretending to be God?

It just… it just wouldn’t stand.

Of course, Credence should have realized that it was Grindlewald’s way of coaxing him. Percival had warned him time and time again that Grindlewald would go through any lengths to get a hold of him, and that’s why Credence was never allowed to go _anywhere_ anymore -- because they needed spend the rest of their days hiding from this demon that walked the earth under the guise of Christ.

Percvial, at least, whatever was left of him – he deserved better than that.

The notion, all of it, made Credence _literally_ flare out into black smoke on a frequent basis.

The obscurus -- it was festering.

The hatred, abuse, and pain that had been the soil on which it grew had now been watered and nourished by Grindlewald himself. And Credence would be damned if he would run the risk of letting it spin out of control in the only home he had left, with Percival always in such close proximity.

He had to do something.

And at this point, Credence figured, anything was better than nothing.

It was a chill November evening when he left in the wee hours of the morning – perhaps ironically, there were just 40 more nights until Christmas.

When Percival would wake in the few hours following Credence’s quiet escape, he would find a small handwritten note on his night stand, the handwriting that of an unpracticed and nerve wracked hand.

It simply read:

_I had to go do something. Please don’t worry about me too much._

_Stay where you are, and please stay safe._

Underneath those lines, there was a big, black blotch of ink where something had been crossed out.

Right below said blotch, Credence had simply written: _I love you._

Of course, Percival couldn’t know that the original, crossed text had formerly ended the note with the statement:

_I have a god to go kill._

* * *

 

_Peter 4:13_

_But rejoice that you participate in the suffering of Christ, so that you may be overjoyed when his glory is revealed._


	2. Peter 2:1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence finds himself in a tight bind.

He wasn’t hard to find, but no one had to point out that that had been entirely intentional on Grindlewald’s part.

Wasn’t that what this whole show -- this whole debacle was about? Wasn’t that why he was being so obnoxious about his new persona, so public? It was an open invitation.

Like his mother would always say:

_It’s all part of the Lord’s plan._

It only took two days to travel to the cathedral that Grindlewald had made his new home. Granted, he had to stop and rest a few times – but he tried to make haste.

Because in moments of rest, his mind would start festering all these worries and doubts.

And guilt -- _a lot_ of guilt.

Because, quite frankly, if he stopped to think about it too long, he would remember the fact that Percival must have realized he was gone not more than a few hours, if not minutes after he left.

If he stopped to think about it too long, he started to imagine that Percival must be nearly insane with worry, knowing him.

And, of course, if he stopped to think about it too _too_ long, Credence would be reminded that realistically, he might never come back.

So, as his obscurus urged, it’s want for vengeance hungry and famished – Credence did not stop to think about it too long.

Credence came to Los Angeles in a loose and billowing hooded robe; it was the only piece of clothing he owned that might conceal one’s face. It had been ideal for camouflage -- its length long and its color black as night-- although it looked ragged and torn at the hems, but he supposed that would only help to disguise him.

He had been hoping he could manage to pass as some homeless person who was just hanging around the church -- hardly an uncommon occurrence, especially in a large city like this. It might have worked in any other stealth mission, if they weren’t dealing with the master of disguises himself.

But Grindlewald did not show any signs of recognizing him all day.

Credence was astonished to find -- at first only watching him through the open doors of the great cathedral -- that he actually carried out sermons like any other priest. The church was packed full of an audience of various ages, many of them likely more lured to see the celebrity priest rather than to attend services.

And the handsome, Christ doppelganger did not disappoint. He was intensely charismatic, a far cry from the act he had put on as Percival Graves. During services, he made a few attempts at humor and sometimes rather corny jokes, while he demonstrated expert knowledge of the bible. After services, he would speak to small children and seniors alike – often to pray with or over them. He would make no attempt to cut time with anyone short.

Even his voice had a gentle, soft tune to it that Credence would not have thought Grindlewald capable of.

By midafternoon, Credence almost started to feel doubtful that he had the right person.

Feeling like he needed to get a better look to be sure, at the last service, Credence went forward to participate in communion.

He sweated heavily as he stood through the long line, not trying to look too conspicuous. Credence had taken his hood down, because he knew it would be a rather ominous thing to wear in a church. (And if he were being honest, he would be willing to bet that Grindlewald likely already knew he was there from the second he stepped foot on the premises).

And when he reached the priest -- when he took his cracker and his meager sample of wine, he took a deep breath and forced himself to look straight ahead.

Their eyes met.                                        

Large, baby blue irises stared back at him – as blue as the most cloudless, sunniest morning sky. They looked unlike anything, or anyone’s eyes that Credence had ever seen in his life. They were entirely unfamiliar, the eyes of a stranger.

A sweet, caring stranger.

Still…any doubts of the priest’s identity Credence were then _instantly_ flushed away.

For it is hard not to recognize evil -- once you’ve seen it.

_Once you’ve had it inside you._

And as for Grindlewald’s reaction?

There was none.

His smile did not falter, his expression did not wane. He held out the communal trays patiently, waiting to move on so that he may serve the next person in line.

Credence had to force himself to break the eye contact, and turn away.

While he had already started to seethe at his own confirmation, he knew he couldn’t do anything. Not now, at least -- there were too many people around.

But a silent greeting had already been exchanged.

All Credence had to do was wait.

The last person did not leave until maybe 10 PM.

At 10:34 PM, Credence found himself striding quickly down the aisle of the cathedral, the pews all deserted save for the ghosts that permanently slept in them.

At the altar, Grindlewald was simply standing, still fully dressed in his grandiose robes -- as though about to preach. He reminded Credence of the MACUSA president, except with a preference for a snowy white rather than glistening gold.

“Credence!” he beamed almost maniacally at Credence as he approached, “How good of you to come, my boy. Have you come to hear the word of Christ? I had worried that your faith had begun to falter.”

Credence growled, but said nothing as he continued to approach him head on.

Just before he could get within 10 yards of Grindlewald, he prepared himself – trying to force his magic to flex.

He planned to pounce on Grindlewald once he got close enough, knowing the obscurus tended to be at its most vicious when initially unleashed. Timing mattered.

But the obscurus seemed oddly still.

By the time Credence had covered half his intended distance, his gait slowed and his bewilderment was enough to distract him from the immediate danger standing right in front of him.

_Why was it not working?_

His confusion must have shown on his face (or Grindlewald could read his thoughts which was honestly more likely), because Grindlewald began to laugh mirthlessly.

“Child…” he crooned, but it was in a way that was much more like Grindlewald, and much less like the holy man he had been watching all day. It was unabashedly condescencing. “Don’t you know this is a holy place? Evil such as witchcraft will not work here.”

“Fuck.” Credence cursed under his breath.

_So Grindlewald had found a way to nullify the obscurus in the church -- possibly enchanting it so magic couldn’t work at all._

_Clever bastard._

Grindlewald chided, “Such language. You’ve been hanging around Percival Graves much too long, Credence. How _is_ my former self, hmm?”

Credence glared.

“Don’t you dare…” he began to threaten on reflex at hearing this -- _abomination_ speak Percival’s name, but he didn’t finish the statement, as they both knew full well that he had nothing to actually follow it up with.

Grindlewald leaned into the altar casually and pouted.

“Does he even know where you are? That you’re here? I can’t imagine that he’d let you go all by your lonesome.”

He stepped down the shallow altar steps, helping close the distance between himself and Credence. His long white priest robes gleamed in his wake, moving unlike any fabric he had ever seen. Credence wondered if he had enchanted it to appear that way.

Grindlewald seemed, to anyone who might view him with ignorance to the malevolence that swam beneath his robes, beneath the porcelain skin – he seemed utterly divine.

_Holy._

Grindlewald gasped, clearly sarcastically.

“No? Why, he must be _so_ worried.” Grindlewald frowned, “Maybe, if I bring him to you, he’ll reward me by letting me have a turn with you. You know I don’t mind sloppy seconds.”

Credence finally launched himself at Grindlewald, any regard for self-preservation forgotten. Although the obscurus had been muted, his fury resounded as loud as ever.

Holding back tears, Credence only managed to land a single blow into Grindlewald’s jaw before Grindlewald calmly brought a cloth to his face that felt damp with fluid.

The repugnant smell of ether filled his nostrils.

As he faded out to black, through blurred vision, he saw Christ smiling at him with menace.

“Holy water.” Grindlewald laughed as Credence fell to the church’s floor.

Credence woke in what looked to be a dimly lit, rather barren basement.

There was not much else in it save for a few large cardboard boxes that were stacked against the walls of red brick.

As he shifted, confused at still groggy, he heard the sound of metal clinking together.

Credence looked down and found that he was shackled, a long leash of metal chain connecting his left ankle to the wall behind him.

But that wasn’t what alarmed him most.

What alarmed him the most was the fact that, as far as he could see – he appeared to be wearing a woman’s dress.

* * *

 

_2 Peter 2:1_

_But there were false prophets also among the people, even as there shall be false teachers among you, who privily shall bring in damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Ash Wednesday!


	3. Newt 1:1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strength is a virtue.

 “You _can’t_ leave.”

Newt was leaning against the kitchen table, eyes downcast on the wooden planks that barely made a floor.

Percival Graves paced back and forth in front of him, gnawing on a thumbnail. He stopped abruptly, turning his head to look at the Brit, who still would not make eye contact.

“What choice do I have?” Percival snapped, “It’s been two fucking days!”

Newt shook his head slowly, “Percival, _please_. I know how you feel but ---“

Percival let out a harsh bark of laughter.

“ _You know how I feel_ , do you?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Newt could not but feel a twinge of annoyance at the condescension in that.

He muttered, “You’re not the only one who cares about him, you know?”

Percival exhaled slowly, closing his eyes, clearly trying to regain some degree of self-control. Although he didn’t say it, he could see Percival regretting what he just said, probably realizing it had been a step too far. The annoyance gave way to pity again, but it didn’t change the statement or make it any less true.

They were _both_ worried, and Percival should not pretend as though he was the only person who had lost sleep over this. Newt would say that for both man, worried was actually kind of an understatement.

Although, Newt sighed as he reminded himself, Percival sacrificed a lot for the boy – damn near everything.

And now?

Now they had no way of knowing if Credence was alive or dead.

Percival had recounted how he had found the note that morning -- how he had exhausted _all_ efforts trying to find Credence immediately. He had told Newt how he had hoped this was some awful joke, or that Credence had truly run off to go run some urgently pressing errand.

And as the hours passed, he had said in a hoarse, cracking voice – he admitted that he had given up hope of either of those possibilities.

Newt never thought he’d see the day Percival Graves would openly weep.

Even in the face of death, in a standoff with his entire staff, with everything around him _literally_ ablaze -- he had shown little emotion, wand risen in defiance.

But to this – to Credence’s absence – Percival had broken.

It filled Newt with an ominous sense of dread, amongst all the other feelings he had to cope with – mainly, his _own_ concern for Credence.

And while Percival’s sacrifices were plenty, it was also hard to say that both Newt and Professor Dumbledore haven’t put their necks on the line for Credence either.

After all, they’ve been hiding the two most wanted fugitives in the wizarding world.

Well, with just the exception of Gellert Grindlewald, of course.

But that was just the thing – Grindlewald _wasn’t_ hiding.

They knew _exactly_ where he was, his location practically plastered on the front page of every other no maj newspaper.

Unfortunately, MACUSA itself was still rebuilding. He, Professor Dumbledore, Queenie, and Tina had all had a hand in slowing down any and every attempt at an organized manhunt for Credence and Percival. They had hoped they could modify their memories originally, but there were just too many witnesses.

_And too many perished._

_You can make someone forget an experience, but even with the memory gone, the corpses stay_.

Aside from what was once the proud landmark that was MACUSA headquarters, the wizarding community in America was also rather sparse.

All this considered, there was not much anyone could _do_ about Grindlewald -- particularly since it was hard to tell what exactly Grindlewald was trying to do in California.

And the two people who _did_ happen to know _exactly_ what he was doing were stuck -- Percival being a fugitive, and Newt having had assisted said fugitive.

Honestly, if Professor Dumbledore had not gotten involved by assisting, Newt would probably have offered to go anyway.

However, Professor Dumbledore _had_ graciously gotten involved, and Newt was too grateful for his favor to risk getting him in trouble as well. It didn’t matter that Newt knew full well that the professor would likely _want_ to help.

Albus Dumbledore, as it was, already had far too many critics for Newt’s taste. If all this got out… he shuddered at the thought.

He wouldn’t deny that _all_ of these circumstances factored into the poker face he schooled his own features into now, while Percival Graves, the king of poker faces, was crumbling in front of him.

_He had to be strong._

Newt had to convince Percival to stay put, for _all_ their sakes.

But _oh_ \-- the worry for Credence was a heavy burden indeed.

 _And not to mention_ , Newt thought morbidly, _the worry for everyone else if Grindlewald were to get his way with him._

“I can’t stay here too long ...you know that, right Percival?” Newt said suddenly, distracting himself from his own thoughts before they began to waver from the resolution he had felt until now – the resolution that was already cracking.

Percival had taken a seat on one of the chairs at some point, his head buried in his own hands. He pulled his face away to look at Newt, and Newt nearly flinched at how worn and tired and _scared_ he looked.

He was reminded of one of his father’s many trademark sayings:

_“Sometimes, when the kings are weak, it is the duty of the common man to wear the crown.”_

“I’ll be back, I promise.” Newt assured him when it didn’t seem like Percival was going to say anything in response, “Please, just stay put, don’t do anything drastic and…em…we’ll…we’ll think of something.”

He left hurriedly, not looking back as he slammed the door shut behind him.

He took a moment to lean against the door, feeling his own tears already prickling up at the corners of his eyes, exhausted from their suppression.

Newt was unsure of the certainty of that last statement – but likewise unable to think of anything else he could say.

He just prayed to God that Credence was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, my procrastination led me to updating twice today. Actually, I'm on a bit of a deadline for this one, so updating will be a little erratic. 
> 
> But I did decide it would be a nice idea to have a few short chapters that peek into what happening on the outside world now ant then, for perspectives sake. As I have it planned now, they'll mostly be from different point of views (but all the chapters with verse titles will still be from Credence's POV).


	4. Mark 16:9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holy water cannot help you now  
> See I've come to burn your kingdom down  
> And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out  
> I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out

“Go on then, my Mary -- what are you waiting for?”

Grindlewald stood over Credence, looking down at him with an eyebrow arched, his expression expectant.

He was still dressed in his priest robes, but his shoes were removed. With his feet bare, he inched the right one closer to Credence.

Credence was still shackled and wrapped women’s garb. It was a crimson red dress with an elaborate medieval design. Its length was long, and as Credence was curled up on the floor, the skirt of it splayed around him with the striking resemblance to a pool of blood.

Grindlewald had already explained to him that he had dressed him in the image of Mary Magdalene.

“I doubt I have to explain who that is to a bible thumper such as yourself.” Grindlewald had chuckled, “I thought it was rather befitting, considering she was a whore.”

Credence glared, but to be fair, he had been glaring practically nonstop since he had arrived.

“What was it that Mary Magdalene did when she first met Jesus? Ahhh, that’s right -- she kissed his feet.”

Grindlewald had taken off his shoes, smirking, and had said “I believe proper introductions are in order, then.”

Revulsion shivered through Credence, but he stayed quiet, his sights straying elsewhere.

He was trying to focus on finding a way out of this mess. He had looked just about everywhere else in the room, trying to take in his surroundings --- _thinking_.

But after not much longer, Grindlewald seemed to grow impatient with Credence’s defiance. Credence felt a sharp kick to his jaw, and he cried out in surprise. Then the same foot that kicked him tapped a larger toe to the bottom of his chin, guiding it gently upward until Credence was looking back up at its owner.

“My boy,” Grindlewald was grinning, “What’s the infamous saying? We can do this the easy way or the hard way. And if you want to do things the _hard_ way, let’s not forget that I can very easily force your memories out of you, and find out where your daddy has been hiding.”

Credence swallowed hard. He didn’t doubt Grindlewald’s power.

Or at least, he wouldn’t want to risk the possibility.

This had been _his_ stupid idea, after all.

Fighting the urge to vomit, Credence leaned forward and hesitantly kissed the top of the foot that was touching his chin. The sensation of his lips on top of his skin, although they barely grazed it, made Credence shiver.

Grindlewald damn near _giggled_ , clearly becoming giddy at the display of surrender. “Good, good.” He bent down and ran a hand through Credence’s hair; a show of approval. “Now, I want you to take the entire big toe into your mouth, and suck on it.”

Credence’s head snapped up to look straight at him, unable to keep the horror and disgust out of his expression.

Of course -- they had _arguably_ done much worse together before… but Credence could never recall any kind of foot play.

 _It was like he was doing this just to demean him_.

Which, all things considered, wasn’t _that_ crazy of a concept.

This time, Grindlewald did not verbally coax him -- but he didn’t need to. The words of his threat were still lingering freshly in the room, and when Credence had given Grindlewald a fair amount of time to clarify that he was joking -- which of course did not -- Credence held his breath and put the entire toe in his mouth.

Grindlewald laughed again, which only helped to confirm Credence’s theory that this was more or less some petty assertion of dominance.

As if reading his mind, Grindlewald stroked his jaw, the same part where he had kicked it, as he crooned, “I missed you, my little concubine.”

Credence only glared up in return, trying to suppress a gag as Grindlewald finally pulled back the foot, removing the toe from his mouth.

But to his dismay, Grindlewald had clearly just been making room for something bigger than his toe, as he began to undo his pants.

“Oh don’t look so frightened,” Grindewald mock pouted, reading Credence’s expression, “I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

Grindlewald’s cock, erect and venous, was suddenly thrust extremely close to his face.

It looked bigger than it had been when he was Percival, at least as far as Credence could bring himself to remember.

“Now, on your knees, Credence. Someone needs to ask Jesus for forgiveness.”

Credence felt another surge of embitterment at the smug remark, but it crumbled away to give way to a different emotion:

Sadness.

The fury and outrage that had been the glue holding up his detached composure thus far broke, and Credence felt himself finally begin to just start bawling. He was helpless to repress the pitiful sobs and heaves in front of Grindlewald, and he _hated_ it. 

It made him feel even more humiliated then the damn dress -- because _any_ progress he felt he had made a person, any step forward he thought he had achieved since he had left the church seemed to all be tumbling down like some demolished structure.

Once again, Credence found himself nothing more than a scared child – trembling and powerless to his abuser.

Grindlewald sighed with exasperation.

“I _really_ thought you would enjoy this little role play. You really should be more grateful, you know. Now -- open up for your Lord and Savior.”

He seized Credence’s jaw, which was already soaked in tears, and roughly shoved the enormity of his cock inside in one swift motion. He moaned loudly and seemed to savor the sensation, even though Credence was doing nothing in reciprocation.

“You know,” He prattled on as he violently began to thrust himself into Credence’s mouth with rhythm, “I’ve taken many lovers since we last met… but none quite like you, Credence. I really did miss you.”

Credence could barely focus on what he was even saying.

His lips were already aching for being stretched out so widely, so suddenly. And the sound of Grindlewald’s voice was muffled by his suppressed gags and mewls.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Grindlewald continued anyway, “I lured you here more for the purpose of fucking you then actually using your power --- although that _may_ come another time. But first, we’ll take our time savoring this little reunion, hmm?”

Grindlewald grabbed used his free hand to pull at a clump of Credence’s hair, and yanked on it hard. Out of reflex, Credence was unable to stop himself from biting down as he flinched, his teeth grinding into the enormous shaft in his mouth.

“Ouch…” Grindlewald tittered, although it didn’t actually seem to hurt him much at all, “I’m going to have to punish you for that one.”

He finally withdrew from Credence’s mouth -- a mixture of pre cum and drool spilling out with him -- and Credence immediately began to dry heave. He wanted to vomit, and thought he _would_ vomit, both nothing except tears and saliva seemed to drip on the cold, dirty floor. He realized his stomach was probably too empty of food to have much bile anyway.

Grindlewald bent down and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling his small frame upward.

Credence yelped as Grindlewald threw him roughly against the wall behind him, head spinning as it bounced against the bricks. Grindlewald positioned him until his stomach was flat against the cold surface, keeping an arm on the small of his neck to ensure that he remained facing it. He pressed up against him, his free hand now rummaging at the skirt of the dress.

“My sweet Mary,” Grindlewald purred lowly into Credence’s ear. He was so close that he could feel the warm breath blow against his face with every word, like the caress of Satan himself. “I’m going to cleanse you of your seven demons.”

Credence wriggled underneath him weakly, but he knew it was useless. He could feel his backside being exposed as Grindlewald lifted up the skirt to allow himself entry, and it only occurred to him now that Grindlewald hadn’t even bothered to put any underwear on him.

As he felt the tip of Grindlewald’s erection poking at the crack of his ass --- pausing, like someone dipping a toe in water to test the temperature --- Credence fought the urge to beg him to stop. He held back, knowing it would likely only arouse Grindlewald even more so.

He was left to brace himself, and sob piteously into the wall.

And as Grindlewald finally shoved himself in, Credence screeched an agonized cry that no one was around to hear.

_But that was just it, wasn’t it?_

It wasn’t so much the pain, or the sexual contact that they’ve already shared so many times before -- it was the fact that he was alone, he was helpless.

And in all honesty, he had no one but himself to blame for it.

Had he _not_ left their home of his own will?

Had he _not_ waited all day to confront Grindlewald?

Sure, he anticipated that this could be a suicide mission. But honestly, Credence had only considered the possibility that Grindlewald could just kill him on the spot.

He had forgotten just how sadistic Gellert Grindlewald could be, apparently. He should have known that just killing him off wouldn’t have been any fun for the perverted, twisted heathen that he was.

And now, they were here, with Grindlewald’s dick jamming repeatedly into Credence’s ass, Credence gasping and panting and sputtering beneath him.

With no Percival to protect him.

If he hadn’t let his own anger get the better of him; if he only hadn’t been so brash -- he would be back home with Percival now. He would be safe. Credence tried to envision what Percival might be doing now, if there was any way he could save him anyway, but he knew it was a long shot.

Percival had no idea where he had gone, and likely wasn’t going to do some nationwide search of America with MACUSA on the lookout.

Credence inhaled sharply as Grindlewald enclosed a hand around his own cock, which was still flaccid and soft.

He yanked on it, and again Credence screamed and Grindlewald moaned.

He began to thrust faster into him, and Credence had to turn his face sideways on the wall just so he didn’t break his nose in the process. He again had to resist the unspoken pleas that teetered on his lips as he felt his entire lower half truly start to ache and burn from all the strain.

He wouldn’t grovel.

 _Not yet_ , at least.

“You’re so tight…” Grindlewald muttered, “Did daddy not fuck you hard enough or am I just _that_ much bigger?”

Credence did not answer that, but the honest truth was that Grindlewald _was_ much larger this time around; to the point where he had wondered if Grindlewald might end up actually killing him by ripping through his rectum.

Credence could feel the warm sensation of blood already running down the back of his thighs, dripping to the ground.

Suddenly, Grindlewald started counting.

“One…”

He thrusted particularly hard, to which Credence whimpered.

“…two…”

 _Harder_. Credence groaned, his knees buckling, Grindlewald’s body likely the only thing holding him upright.

“…three…”

 _Harder_.

That one elicited a full blown scream -- he was becoming lightheaded.

“…four…”

_Harder._

And finally, to the sound of Grindlewald’s moans of euphoria -- Credence fainted.

* * *

 

_Mark 16:9_

_Now when Jesus was risen early the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had cast seven devils._


	5. Tina 1:1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina receives a startling message.

Popertina snapped her novel shut, finishing what had to be the third novel of the week. She got up from her plush armchair, walking over to the bookshelf behind her to replace it, and to possibly pick out new one. She slid it back into the small gap it had left in it’s absence, eyed some of the other books, but then decided with a huff that it was probably better to just start getting ready for bed.

After all, Tina figured, she really should save _some_ books for later --- it’s not like she could run out and buy new ones.

Not these days, anyways.

Popertina Goldstein had relocated to Rhode Island. She had had enough savings to rent out a small studio apartment, but only for herself. Queenie had gone to live with the no-maj she had grown fond of, Jacob. Whether it was out of love for him or out of Queenie not wanting to burden Tina financially, Tina wasn’t sure. Of course, Tina had insisted it would be fine, that they could get by. Whether or not that was true though, Tina wasn’t sure of that either. But money aside, it was just hard to see her sister go. Especially now.

These were terrible times -- times that had really only _started_ with the destruction of New York.

At the time of New York’s second catastrophe, there had been no swooping evil venom to obliviate everyone’s memories.

Sure, they obliviated everyone they __could__ \--- but New York was a big place with a lot of people. People who remembered what they saw, no matter how much damage control they all scrambled to do. And that memory was leaving imprints: a certain girl had been making headlines as the leader of a movement. A movement some called “the Second Salem”.

Her name was Modesty Barebone.

And she remembered.

She remembered _remarkably_ well.

Tina likely would not have recognized her if not for the unusual name. The black and white pictures in the newspapers depicted a rather beautiful girl, so lovely that Tina might have wondered if she was part veela.

She had grown out her long blonde hair, which seemed to shine even through the poor quality of printed paper.

And she was still very young -- Tina wasn’t sure how old she had been back then, but could only guess around her late teens now. 18, at the oldest. Yet, despite her young age, people were listening to her.

Modesty had taken up a job as a journalist, which had helped to give her the pedestal from which she spread her theories. She wrote about how there were witches out there. She printed articles how they had killed her family, and how they had destroyed her home. She spread the word that this was no natural disaster or freak incident like they were trying (and failing to pass it off as).

No, Modesty proposed --- this was the work of the devil.

God was punishing us, she had stated, because we let the Antichrist climb into our ranks.

What Modesty was referring to was the sudden appearance of a miracle worker in California. There was a priest who was said to be able to heal the sick, to fix ailments that should not be possible to fix.

And there were some people who heralded this priest like he was Christ himself. Even physically, the priest had a __striking__ resemblance to the standard depiction of Jesus Christ.

It wasn’t hard to see why some people were fooled, while others were wary.

But Tina knew better, of course.

It most certainly to to at least be a witch or wizard. She only hoped it was not __the__ wizard many suspected him of being.

Unfortunately however, Tina didn’t believe anyone else would have the gall to mix witchcraft and religion with such brazenness.

__But why?_ _

It was hard to imagine why Grindlewald would spend his time hanging around church goers and giving sermons to no majs, when not long ago he was on a crusade in the name of magical purity. And Tina __highly__ doubted that he had simply seen the err of his ways and converted to the Christian faith.

Regardless of what his actual intent was, or might have been, the priest’s rise to fame --- along with the disaster in New York --- was causing a new wave of paranoia all over America. It was just the right kind of hysteria to help amplify Modesty’s message.

While Mary Lou Barebone had been seen as a crazed, old religious fanatic -- Modesty was being hailed as a savior for saying all the same things.

All it had taken was a perfect storm, and she had found one.

 _ _The looks probably had something to do with it__ , Tina thought bitterly as she bent over the sink to wash her own face. The golden rule of marketing or spreading really any advertisement -- it helps when the face of it is a pretty one.

Also, timing.

When Mary Lou had been at drivers seat of this movement, there had been only a few weird explosions here or there; nothing a few gas leaks couldn’t explain.

An entire city on fire, however… well, people tend to notice that kind of thing.

And then there was that blasphemous little show their own celebrity priest was putting on.

It wasn’t that much of a shock, really, that such a small fringe movement might grow so fast in the wake of all this fear and confusion.

It wasn’t all __that__ strange that in some parts of America, vigilantes have taken things into their own hands, and have already slaughtered people they suspected of practicing witchcraft.

And once again, actual witches and wizards found themselves in hiding, their movements limited. Modesty had fulfilled her mother’s dying wish:

They finally had another Salem witch hunt on their hands.

Tina jumped, startled as she heard a pecking at her window. Still leaning against her bathroom sink, she took some deep breaths to try and slow her suddenly rapid heartbeat. She shook her head, and went over to where she knew Kuro, her owl, was waiting.

Kuro greeted her merrily as she let her inside, a single envelope tucked into her tiny beak. Tina thanked her and removed the envelope, dusting off the fur that always seemed to stick to Newt’s mail. She opened it up and pulled out the singular paper that was folded up inside, reading as she walked to her bedroom.

His message was brief, his scrawl clearly written with a frantic hand:

_Tina -_

_I hope you’re doing well, and you’ve been keeping safe of course. I have bad news to report. Percival has gone missing._

_There’s something else I haven’t quite told you, and only because I don’t want to upset you further, so please do not be too angry with me. Credence has been missing for some time now too, although we believed he had left on his own._

_He had written a note to Percival saying that he was leaving, but we didn’t hear from him after that. As you can imagine, Percival wasn’t taking it well. We believe Grindlewald had something to do with this, possibly under the guise of that priest in California. I’m sure you’ve suspected as well, that it’s him I mean. I tried to convince Percival to stay where he was, Tina._

_I’m so sorry. But now it seems he’s gone, and I’m pretty sure he’s gone to look for Credence. You know how he is. I suppose it was foolish of me to think I could stop him from going after him, regardless of the risks._

_Please, if he contacts you, just let me know as soon as possible. If you hear anything at all, let me know anyway._

_Again, I’m terribly sorry I didn’t tell you about Credence earlier. I didn’t want to burden you with this on top of everything else, but it seems I have no choice. I’m trying my best to think of something else we can do to help them._

_Well, hopefully we’ll be in touch then._

_Stay safe,_

_Newt_


	6. Job 23:10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grindlewald tries a new approach.

Credence flinched as the third lash tore through his back, expanding already open wounds.

His teeth bit down into chewed leather; the cover of the bible that Grindlewald had forced him to bite down into, as he whipped him repeatedly.

“The power of Christ compels you!” Grindlewald declared facetiously with every lash.

It was a little game that Grindlewald had come up with himself.

He would force Credence upright, turn him so that he was facing the wall, and gave him a tattered old bible to bite down into.

Then he would take a solitary but sharp whip, with which he would try to attempt an “exorcism” consisting of 10 lashes.

If Credence dropped the bible or allowed it to fall from his mouth, the lashes would start over again. It would continue until Credence could finally endure a round without dropping it.

So far, he’s dropped it twice.

 

* * *

 

 

At another point in his captivity, Credence looked up to find Percival standing before him.

But it wasn’t Percival.

It was Grindlewald, and he knew it.

The bastard hadn’t even bothered to take off the priest robes.

But he had still put on the mask of Percival’s likeness, and it was enough to make Credence cry without having even been touched.

“Don’t…” Credence shook his head, his voice a meager squeak of a thing.

Grindlewald schooled his expression into one of concern. It was an expression that Credence had come to know very well -- an expression he missed sorely.

Still, although it was a perfect copy in every detail, the eyes managed to seem so much _colder_.

“What’s wrong, my boy?”

Credence had to marvel at how quickly Grindlewald could altar his own voice. The familiar tone burned into Credence’s ears, and he looked down at the floor -- at the skirt of the tattered dress -- as he began to sob even harder.

“It’s me, darling. I’ve come to save you Credence.” Grindlewald knelt down to his level and stroked an almost gentle hand through Credence’s hair. Credence found himself unable to resist leaning into the touch, beyond thirsty for the feel of Percival’s skin against his own again.

“I killed him.” Grindlewald insisted, “I had to put on these robes to sneak in, but I took care of that fuck. You’re safe now, I promise. I’ll never let anything happen to you again. I’m _so_ sorry, my boy.”

Finally, Credence looked up at him, beginning to feel some doubt.

_Could it be true?_

  
As their eyes met, Grindlewald brought a hand up to one of his cheeks, swiftly wiping away the lingering tears. He inched closer and kissed him softly, and Credence reflexively kissed him back at the familiar feel of his lips. Grindlewald made a move to lift his skirt and Credence broke the kiss immediately, inclining backwards.

“You’re not him.” Credence stated breathlessly, his own heart breaking at the words.

Everything else aside, Credence knew that if Percival truly had come to save him, he wouldn't have greeted him with anything more than a kiss before trying to get them to to safety. And based off where Grindlewald was leading his hand towards, he clearly had other things in mind.

Percival had _always_ been protective above all else. Romance and affection were more secondary natures to him; that much Credence was sure of. 

Grindlewald pouted, but dropped the pretense.

“I thought you’d like this face better.”

“ _Don’t_.” Credence repeated with much more resolution before, an angry edge to his tone. “Don’t pretend to be him.”

Grindlewald laughed at that, “My Credence, you sound so… aggressive. Did I hit a nerve? You weren’t this mad when I posed as Christ --- yet here you are being _insolent_ because I look like your precious daddy. Now, what does that say about you? You’re a bad christian, Credence.”

Grindlewald grabbed a hold of Credence’s cock under the skirt, and Credence hissed, forgetting that Grindlewald hadn’t moved his hand back. Grindlewald smirked, “Well even if you can’t see me as your daddy, your cock apparently still does.”

Grindlewald began to stroke him and Credence realized what he meant. He was alarmed to find that he was actually hard, and it was likely in reaction to the illusion of Percival’s presence.

The epiphany made Credence seethe.

“Stop…” he growled, but of course Grindlewald didn't. He continued to jerk him off until Credence let out some involuntary moans, hating the way his body was succumbing despite his disgust and despair.

At the sound of his unwanted pleasure, Grindlewald smiled through Percival’s lips. “Very naughty, my boy. What would your mother think?”

Credence tried to look away, hoping that _not_ seeing Percival’s likeness within his direct line of vision would at least help to return him to his flaccid state. He knew Grindlewald would likely take him one way or another, but he hated the idea of giving Grindlewald the satisfaction that _he_ came too. He knew he’d only use it against him.

But of course, his body continued to betray him.

As Credence looked away, Grindlewald went a step further and licked his shaft moving upward. Credence moaned again, trying to ignore the orgasm that was slowly willing itself forward.

As it turned out, just looking elsewhere wasn’t enough to distract him from the familiarity of Percival’s mannerisms.

It wasn’t just the way he looked -- it was the way his skin seemed to be the same degree of softness.

It was the way he touched him with the same combination of firm but gentle.

It was the way Grindlewald seemed to know _exactly_ how the real Percival Graves treated him, even in their most private of moments.

It was the way he could imitate how Percival knew just the right spots to hit, at just the right angle.

And Credence came as he remembered the real Percival Graves, and all the things he missed about him.

Grindlewald chuckled. He took a moment to look at the cum that had splashed onto his hand, and he leaned forward and inserted two fingers into Credence’s mouth, both of them leaving drops on his tongue. Credence gagged.

“Good boy.” he grinned mischievously, and Grindlewald got up and left the basement.

Credence breathed out a sigh of relief, surprised that Grindlewald didn’t do more to him.

It had begun to seem like Grindlewald’s sole purpose of keeping him around was to make him bleed. The idea that he would come down here, force him to orgasm, and walk off without hurting him was unusual.

However, Credence reminded himself that psychological torture was _still_ torture.

_And had it not worked?_

Credence felt ashamed at having been able to cum through Grindlewald’s hand. If he felt he had had any sense of dignity remaining, it was now gone.

Credence was only left with the sore, emotional ache of Percival’s absence.

He longed for his protection and comfort now more than ever. 

For a moment, Credence contemplated Grindlewald's words: _"Now, what does that say about you? You’re a bad christian, Credence."_

In times of helplessness Credence would often pray.

Even after he and Percival had committed a myriad of sins in New York, Credence had still gone to the site of the old church, and fell on his knees to ask for forgiveness.

It was something his mother had ingrained in him, a necessary habit in times of desperation.

His mother would remind him and his sisters of the tale of Job; the oldest story the bible.

It was the story of a godly, good man who had many blessings. God made an example of him, and Satan argued that Job was only a good servant out of privilege, and he only need fall on hard times for his faith to be challenged and waiver. God insisted this was not so, and he allowed Satan to test him.

Satan wreaked havoc on Job’s life, taking away all his worldly possessions and then some. Everything lost, Job’s faith in God still did not waiver.

_God giveth, and God taketh away._

So Satan tested him more, and went as far as putting him through physical torture. While Job did have some doubts by the end, ultimately he still feared God and rejected Satan. In the finale of this little trial, God ended up rewarding him with double the amount of everything he had lost in Satan’s gamble.

If Credence _were_ as God fearing as he once was, he would insist to himself that God was just testing him now. He would try to comfort himself with the idea that God will at some point save him, and God will bless Percival and himself for his strength and patience. He find a way to clear their names, and allow them to live in a nice home like the one Percival once had, and they could see all their friends again.

But Credence was no longer God fearing.

In his opinion -- in his now distraught and broken mind -- he could not fathom a God that would allow Satan do this to him. To them.

Credence was no longer God fearing, because if there was ever a God above, he must have died some time ago.

 _And if this was a test from either deity_ , Credence thought as his insides ached with the pains of starvation, _he has surely failed it._

* * *

 

_Job 23:10_

_But he knows the way that I take: when he has tried me, I shall come forth as gold.  
_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, I posted twice today and I'll likely post twice tomorrow. I'm trying to get this story done this weekend more or less because I'll be off on vacation soon. Hope y'all don't mind!


	7. Gellert 1:1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you mix the blood of a creature of purity with the blood of a creature of darkness? Gellert Grindelwald would like to know.

Gellert was closing a sermon.

They were _finally_ at the end of the last mass of the day, and he could not be more fucking relieved.

In the end, the last person to come to him was an elderly woman. She was wizened and frail, as were many of the frequent church goers. She shuffled up to Gellert, her whole body seeming to tremble from the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other.

“Father…” she croaked up at him underneath a wide brimmed church hat, “Will you please pray over me? The doctors say I have the Alzheimers disease.”

Gellert groaned on the inside but smiled kindly on the outside.

“Of course, my child.”

He brought a hand over her head and placed it gently on her temple.

She closed her eyes, and he closed his, and they both prayed:

“Almighty and Everlasting God, in whom we live, and move and exist, we praise you and give you thanks, because you grant your servants here long days with perseverance in faith. Lord, grant them to find around them benevolence and comfort, let them have the joy to be in good health. May they not be afflicted by the disease, but Thy blessing give them the force to spend this time of their life to praise Thee. Through Jesus Christ Our Lord. Amen.”

“Thank you, father.” the elderly woman looked at them with palpable gratitude when they were done, before she began her slow shuffle away from him.

Gellert watched her carefully until she was a good distance away, sighing when she was finally out of the door.

At last, the God forsaken muggles were gone.

* * *

 

Gellert scurried away down to the basement, where Credence lying on the ground as per usual.

 _Damn useless lump_.

He really _was_ a lot more depressing these days. He reacted so much better to the Graves face -- still does, he supposes. It was just so much more interesting when Credence had some fight in him. 

Gellert kicked the kid hard in the stomach to get his attention.

Credence yelped, curled into himself, but still didn’t get up. For lack of a playful mood, Gellert grabbed him by a clump of his hair anyway and all but thew him up into the wall.

He eyed Credence with distaste -- the dress he had so _graciously_ clothed Credence with was now all tattered and stained with blood.

_What an ingrate._

He positioned Credence so that he was forced to face him. It wasn’t exactly a difficult task; the boy had been reduced to not much more than a pretty rag doll, if that. As of the past day or so, he barely even cried anymore. (And Gellert never thought he would see the day Credence Barebone might actually run out of tears).

Credence looked like the victim of a dementor’s kiss, and he acted like one too. Just a shell of his former self. 

 _Boring cunt_ , Gellert mused as he leaned forward and bit Credence hard on his pale white neck, teeth grinding until they had broken skin and he could taste the iron flavor of blood. Credence screamed and Gellert smirked as much as one could with their teeth digging into someone else’s flesh.

_Theres his sensitive little lamb._

Gellert lingered there for just a little longer, finally pulling back with his mouth full of Credence’s blood. He spat some out into his hand, and then used that same hand to caress Credence’s right cheek lovingly, leaving a bright red smear that almost looked like mere lipstick.

“Goodnight, my little Mary.” he crooned he ran a thumb along his cheekbone repeatedly before finally pulling away.

He could see the relief on Credence's face as he realized Gellert was cutting their "bonding" time shorter than usual.

And that he was -- because Gellert had _other_ things to attend to.

He strode out of the backdoor of the church, which led to a spacious flower garden that people often frequented between services.

It was a very simple garden for such a large cathedral, rather minimalist. There were daisies and roses, and a lot of green -- but not much else.

In the farthest, right-most corner of this garden stood a tool shed; that was where Gellert was headed to now.

Although the tool shed looked small from the outside -- barely big enough for one person to stand in -- Gellert had of course enchanted it to be much bigger on the inside.

It was there that Gellert had made himself a make shift workshop of sorts.

He opened the shed door to reveal what might appear to any muggle as a large laboratory.

There were bowls and vials on top of tables and counters, many of them filled with liquids of varying colors. Gellert promptly went over to the sink and brought out a narrow tin container. He spit out a glob of blood, mixing it in with the blood that already nearly overflowed from the tin's rim.

It was all Credence’s blood. The entire container.

* * *

 

Gellert had been experimenting.

He once read that one could actually obtain the powers of the obscurus by mixing just the right amount of the obscural's blood with the right amount of unicorn's blood. And with the last chunk that Gellert had managed to procure -- he _finally_ had enough of both.

The unicorns blood had been a souvenir from Durmstrang, and thankfully the recipe did not require much of it.

Gellert poured both into his cauldron, being careful to stir it _exactly_ to the instructions. _Three times clockwise, twice counter clockwise, yatta yatta._ It required the kind of precision Gellert was never known for, but he tried to be patient as he tried to do everything just right.

Soon the potion turned from a warped mix of bright silver and dark crimson to a pitch black shade, obscurus-like smoke flowing out of it.

Briefly, Gellert actually thought it smelled like Credence. He always had thought the boy smelled faintly of maple. 

When it was 10 PM, on the dot, Gellert took it off the fire, swiftly poured it into a vial, and he drank it.

He choked as he forced the black concoction down -- it tasted like vinegar.

Just, plain vinegar.

When he could feel the potion hit his stomach -- as it gurgled and bubbled and _writhed_ in response -- Gellert suddenly became nervous. He was anxious to see if it would work. He tried to dismiss it as merely that: excitement. But almost instantly, Gellert felt disquieted. It was the curse of being a lackluster seer -- often he would get feelings, sometimes full blown visions -- but he could never know what they might mean in detail, if anything at all.

Yes, he felt something. In truth, however, Gellert had not been sure just how long it was supposed to take. The handwritten notes he had on the subject left out that little detail.

Still, his breath hitched as he could feel a palpable shift in his own magic. He just couldn't tell how strong the shift was, or if it was truly the power of the obscurus developing. Gellert didn't know if it was something he had to allow time to fully develop, or if trying to use it now would hinder the process somehow. As far as he knew, Gellert really didn't know much at all -- drinking the blood of an obscurus was largely uncharted territory. Even if there had been theories before, it wasn’t ever something he could do heavy research on.

Hadn't that been his everlasting struggle as of late? 

Gellert convinced himself that it would be best to head back to the brownstone he had procured himself, and to simply rest and see what had happened in the morning.

Still feeling quite unsettled, he headed back into the church.

He made his way through a couple of the many conference rooms, down the halls, all while trying to convince himself that the pounding in his chest was simply nerves, and _not_ some kind of ominous premonition of danger.

But those hopes were dashed when he reached the altar, where Gellert ran into a very free, very _furious_ looking Credence Barebone. Behind Credence, the large cross that decorated the altar had been knocked over, yet still stood upright so that it seemed merely upside down. 

All around Credence, black smoke emanated like an unholy wedding veil, crowned upon a face still smeared with his own blood. His eyes were pure white, with no irises to be found.

Credence snarled before he flung himself at Gellert, clearly back to his full powers.

Gellert tried his best to summon whatever he could to shield himself,  but to his horror, he found no magic at his command. He reached up and found that his hair was no longer shoulder length or auburn, but had turned to it's regular blonde.

Gellert screamed as Credence collided into him, feeling the boy's hands tearing into his throat. 

 _Clearly,_ Gellert thought with some bitter humor as Credence continued to rip into every inch of him, _something in this plan has gone terribly wrong._


	8. Matthew 28:5-7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A transfer of magic -- and justice.

“Someone once told me God was a lie."

Credence stood before Grindelwald, having to look upwards to see his face. The dark wizard was completely nude, except for the blood that cascaded down his body, like pungent highlights from gaping wounds. Both his arms were outstretched; his hands with nails burrowed at the center of his open palms. 

It had been the cross that served as the cathedral's most extravagant decoration --- a gigantic prop that stood majestically at the center of the altar. It was a too familiar symbol that Credence had always felt judgment from, somehow. But now, it finally looked right. 

But now, it finally looked right; now that Gellert Grindelwald had been crucified upon it. 

And on his head was a makeshift crown of thorns, of any sharp objects Credence could find. 

He had felt it would be a nice touch.

* * *

 

Credence was unsure what had changed.

Grindelwald had taken that bite out of him, and then he had left abruptly. Not more than an hour or so later, Credence could feel the obscurus finally and suddenly shift inside him just hours later. 

Within a short span of minutes, the dark fire inside him went from nonexistent to fully alive.

 _But yet,_ _it was still different._

He could feel that it was already beyond its typical limitations. The obscurus had come back _stronger_ , somehow.

Perhaps it was merely the pent up fury from having been repeatedly broken by Grindelwald’s torture.

It was impossible to know if it might be a temporary surge -- but in either case, Credence had known he didn’t have much time to really stick around and analyze the turn of events.

Of course, he _could_ have just left immediately.

Credence had heard Grindelwald go out the back door, so he knew the bastard wasn’t in his way. The moment Credence felt the

The moment Credence felt the obscurus return to him, the smartest course of action would have probably been to fly off at once -- escape and return to Percival.

And yet, Credence couldn’t bring himself to do it.

He wanted his revenge; the obscurus craved blood. 

Instead --- he waited.

Credence had allowed Grindelwald to encounter him as he passed by the altar. And he had beaten him down until _every_ bone within reach had been snapped by ripples of black smoke.

He had _relished_ in Grindelwald’s hair-raising shrieks of pure agony.

Credence ravished every inch of him in blows until Grindelwald finally collapsed from the pain, losing consciousness. Credence had actually been rather disappointed that he had passed out so soon when he was _just_ beginning to have some fun.

But then he had had a marvelous idea.  

And Credence had dragged Grindelwald’s limp body over to the cross, the monstrosity that had been overturned in the wake of his power. And Credence went about dismantling different structures within the church until he had the tools he required for his little art project. 

When Grindelwald was properly nailed down by both hands, Credence flew up to position the cross on the wall where it belonged. And he allowed Grindelwald to hang there in the awkward position, beaten and bleeding from every extremity. With the remains of the structures he had dismantled, Credence made a lopsided circle from the sharpest parts, and he carefully plopped it onto Grindelwald's snow white hair. 

Credence had backed away and observed his work. The sight of it was one of the most beautiful things Credence had _ever_ seen in his life.

And when he was done, Credence had inched closer to the bottom of it.

He knelt down and kissed Grindelwald’s bloody feet -- just as Mary Magdalene had kissed Jesus Christ’s.

* * *

 

Credence could tell Grindelwald was still alive, but only barely.

Time was ticking away like the pitter-patter of the blood that dripped from his toes down onto the altar carpet.

Credence sprung upward until he was eye level with Grindelwald.

Credence still did not know any spells, nor did he own a wand himself. But somehow -- this rebirth of the obscurus felt _much_ easier to control.

It was either that or the obscurus had more control over _him_ , but that wasn’t important right now.

The point was that without needing the skill over magic, or the tools wizards typically used, Credence suddenly knew how to just -- _do_.

And so, he tapped Grindelwald’s face lightly, running his hand down the blood covered jaw like Grindelwald had done to his own so many times’ in the past. Using the magic of the obscurus that was suddenly so much more evolved -- he willed him to wake.

Grindelwald stirred, his eyes fluttering open, then squinting in confusion. When realization seemed to hit -- when all the mortal pains and aches came flooding back --Grindelwald’s expression was distraught in fear and terror.

It was so _very_ satisfying, and Credence could not help but smirk.

"Sorry to wake you. I just wanted to tell you something before I killed you...” Credence whispered softly just inches from Grindelwald’s grimacing face.  To the eye's of anyone who might have been ignorant of the situation, it might appear as though they were about to kiss. 

He put a hand that was half solid, half smoke, gently on Grindelwald’s bare chest.

“Someone once told me God was a lie…” Credence continued on, “…but he was wrong.”

In a swift motion -- like the tail of a scorpion puncturing flesh - Credence ripped into Grindelwald’s chest and enclosed a hand around various organs until his finger enclosed the weakly beating heart.

He yanked it out -- along with a fistful of other muscle, blood, and tissue. Grindelwald screamed weakly, his eyes bulging. 

Upon Grindelwald’s dying breath, Credence made sure the very last words he heard were:

“He was wrong. As you can see now... _.I am no lie_.”

 

* * *

_ Matthew 28:5-7 _

_The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: ‘He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.’ Now I have told you.”_

 

 


	9. Percival 1:1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long awaited reunion.

It was as though a bomb had gone off.

At last Percival strode into the cathedral, barely acknowledging the rubble that collapsed behind him. The doors had been locked, almost magically it seemed -- but Percival had no qualms about destroying them.

He had no time to worry about keeping a low profile.

He had Grindelwald to deal with.

He had Credence to save.

Nothing else mattered anymore -- _wizarding laws be damned._

Yet the closer he got to the cathedral’s altar, Percival's stride slowed. The church seemed to have had a tornado pass through it -- broken and overturned furniture was scattered all over the floor.

But that wasn’t what made Percival hesitate.

He squinted, unsure of what he was seeing ahead of him. There was a large, decorative cross at the center of the altar’s background. That wasn’t unusual for any church or cathedral. Standard, almost. 

 _No_ , Percival gasped out in horror as his vision adjusted. 

There was a decomposing corpse nailed to the cross.

A corpse that had Grindelwald’s off white colored hair.

Of course, Percival _had_ come here to kill Gellert Grindelwald -- so one might argue that he should have been relieved.

Still, the gruesome backdrop made it feel so…unholy in this place. He felt an ominous presence. 

It just didn't feel right. 

“Credence!” Percival yelled out croakily when he could find his voice again. “Credence, are you here?”

He heard a shuffling -- the sound of movement.

Credence emerged from a shadowy corner just behind the altar. 

He was dressed in white priest robes that looked a size too large for him, with blotches of red blood splattered in various places.

The air around Credence seemed to smoke black, which was nothing Percival had not seen before.

But the smoke somehow looked different. Just like with the feeling of the ominous presence, Percival just couldn’t quite place how.

It felt so much more… _maleficent_.

Still, Percival could feel nothing but overwhelming relief at seeing Credence alive. He sprinted towards the boy, a rare smile blooming on his lips.

“Percival.” Credence responded. His voice was surprisingly cold, but Percival could still see the shine of tears in his eyes.

His voice was surprisingly cold, but Percival could still see the shine of tears in his eyes. He could see the relief on his expression, and the longing. 

Percival nearly tackled him as he hugged the boy, who was probably already frail and weakened from whatever the bastard did to him.

He just couldn’t help himself.

Percival was just so overjoyed to have Credence back in his arms -- to have him safe. He honestly wasn’t sure if he had ever felt such immense relief before. Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes.

Tears prickled at the corner of his eyes.

Caught up in his bliss, it took Percival a moment realize that Credence was chewing something. He pulled back and looked at the boy, puzzled. “What are you eating?” he asked, half chuckling.

He pulled back and looked at the boy, puzzled. “What are you eating?” he asked, half chuckling.

Credence smiled and merely continued to chew. As he smacked on whatever he was eating, Percival saw for the first time that the inside of Credence’s mouth appeared to be grotesquely bloody.

“Credence, what ---”

“Body of Christ.” Credence answered simply.

“Body of Christ?” Percival raised an eyebrow at him.

“Matthew 26:26…” Credence recited breathlessly, an odd and unfamiliar gleam in his eye. “As they were eating, Jesus took some bread and blessed it. Then he broke it in pieces and gave it to the disciples, saying, ‘Take this and eat it, for this is my body.’”

Percival felt a shiver run down his spine.

But before either of them could speak again, Credence leaned forward and kissed Percival on the lips. Honestly, Percival almost didn’t mind the fact that the blood that seemed to flood Credence’s mouth seeped and dribbled into his own.

He had just been yearning for Credence’s lips for _much_ too long.

“Let's go home, Percival.” Credence whispered when he broke away.

Percival nodded, still trying to ignore the odd and unsettled feeling that was slowly replacing the euphoric relief he felt just moments earlier.

As Credence led them away from the altar, Percival looked back at the corner where Credence had initially emerged.

He nearly jumped as he noticed it --a human heart was discarded on the ground.

It had a bite taken out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! We're finished.
> 
> Sorry the updating on this story has been so weird. I'm leaving for a little vaycay in a week, so I was trying to get this done amongst all my other things lol.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who kudos'd/reviewed/bookmarked and all that!

**Author's Note:**

> Come chat https://carryonmyobscurialson.tumblr.com/


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